Ex Tenebra Lux
by Illogically.Inclined
Summary: Nearly thirty million years have passed since Third Impact. Fifteen million since Earth was nearly murdered by the Eaters. The Sun and Moon and stars are dead, and mankind has lost its heaven, trapped in the frozen pits of hell in their Last Redoubt.
1. Prologue: Antennas to Heaven

**Prologue: **_**Antennas to Heaven**_

When she had left, all had seemed right with the universe.

The seas and skies had been incarnadine with the blood of mankind, but there was hope, and a chance for rebirth. With Lilith slain and Instrumentality subverted, she had been content to leave Earth for her sojourn to the stars, her conscience appeased by her successes. The sun and moon were steadfast in their orbits, the stars stock-still eternal sentinels, and so long as they existed, they were proof that mankind could find its heaven.

She felt some guilt, of course; her motherly instincts did not lie abandoned, and combined with her scientific curiosity it was almost enough to make her give up her quest for the stars, make her regret leaving the world when there was still so much to do. Almost. It was only natural then that when she first heard the buzz of radio traffic once more upon the aether not half a century after her departure, her heart rejoiced. Her trust in and hope for mankind had been vindicated, her works not for naught; humanity yet thrived.

Within fifty thousand years – before she had even left the galactic arm proper – she could hear the chatter of the works of man from every direction behind her. Signals danced through the interstellar void as man took to the stars, and her heart filled with a sort of maternal pride, for she felt that they were all now her children, and she was proud to see them thrive and strive and multiply across the universe. _Mankind had proven worthy of its aspirations to the stars,_ she remembered thinking to herself later as she left the galactic plane of the Milky Way for another, using the gravitational slingshot of a neutron star to fling herself towards Andromeda like a relativistic missile, her AT field acting as a cushion before her, extended half a lighthour wide to stave off oncoming debris.

It was as she flew through that gasping void between galaxies that she first began to notice it, that she first began to feel that something was – not wrong, per se, but definitely _off_ – with the universe.

Although the journey lasted over a million years, at the speeds she travelled at a few centuries of relative time passed, and with the aid of that dilation of time she began to notice strange patterns in the universe at large.

It was barely noticeable then, but the galaxies were dimming.

She had never by any means professed to be an expert in the field, but her knowledge of astrophysics was not insignificant, that science having captured her fancy long before the plots of foolish men forced her hand. Everything she knew told her that this was natural, or would be, given a timeframe several orders of magnitude greater.

A quarter million years she wandered Andromeda, dim suspicions lurking just of outside the reach of consciousness. With all the power of her massive mind she fought for an answer, but found none.

There was life here, myriad civilizations totally alien to anything in man's conception; some were advanced enough to observe her even as she observed them. Yet she saw, with disappointment, that 

they were unable, or perhaps unwilling, to traverse the stars. Their technology was not sufficient to explain this gloaming.

Setting sights on further reaches still, she strove forth from the disk of Andromeda to another nearly a dozen million lightyears away.

This time there was no mistaking it, the stars were dimming exponentially, accelerating towards their demise. Some went supernova, she saw as she approached, but more and more the even the greatest stars were dying with whimpers, decaying away into disparate vapor. And as she drew near, as she exerted her power to decelerate safely into the galaxy's waiting leprous arms, she felt it. A titanic malign Presence, applying subtle force to her approaching AT field. Its mind must have been vast, its power inconceivable, to reach her across the gulf of space, and yet it did.

Yet her will, too, was mighty, and she pushed back, held back its tides of malice with her practiced calm.

And as she approached the minds multiplied in number, Presences joining in their vigil from every corner of that cancerous galaxy, its stars long reduced to dull red embers.

She saw them then, she felt their presence, and she knew fear.

Ponderous gods of miscreation she saw, feeding on the entropic decay of existence, bringing everything to its end. They needed no purpose for their destruction, for malice is its own purpose. Their hunger knew no bounds, for they were the Eaters, the Slayers of Worlds.

Looking back across the gulf to her home, she knew only desperation, the faintest glimmering of hope that there was still a chance to warn her children, to save them from these monsters.

Yet even then the dread was overwhelming her, and she knew that the hope was false, that it was already too late. The Eaters were the cause of the decay, and they had already begun consuming Andromeda, by now they had surely reached the Milky Way. There was no chance that she could outrun them, yet she had to try, and so she did.

Twelve million years she flew through that ghastly void, the stars flickering horribly before her eyes – flickering and dying like scattered embers in a storm. There were no more signals in the aether, no human voices piercing the gloom. On a hundred desolate worlds orbiting rotting stars she saw the shattered remains of civilizations, testaments at once to humanity's might, and humanity's insignificance. In the void between stars she found titanic structures to dwarf even the Black Moon, fortresses built in desperation; and tiny wisps of metal and gas, the final elaborate defense against the onslaught, final symbols of defiant rage against the dying of the light. Gutted starships and space hulks floated with mocking tranquility through the night, and so frequently did she come upon them that her mind was staggered at the sheer size of the fleets which man had built, of the sheer size of mankind's former empire. _They must have numbered in the trillions,_ she thought, _yet now… I cannot find a single sign of life._

Everywhere she felt the presence of the Enemy, everywhere she saw their mark upon the desolation. And she cursed the Eaters, cursed them for what they had done to her children.

With all the power she had left, with all her fading sanity, with all the power of her massive mind, she sought the Earth. There was not a sign of life about it for a dozen lightyears or more. Where before not a month went by without sighting some new product of man's struggle, growing increasingly more terrible and elegant as she closed the distance towards the homeworld, now there was nothing, not a single ship or hulk or anything to betray the existence of man. It brought to her heart a dread she could not comprehend, and at once an unattainable hope: if there was no evidence of mankind's defeat, perhaps then they were not defeated?

And at last despair overtook her as she saw the ruins of Earth, trapped in perpetual darkness about a long-dead sun, scarred beyond the faintest glimmer of recognition. If not for the absolute certainty of her calculations, she would never have believed it to be the same Earth she had left some twenty seven million years before. The moon, Venus and Mercury were vanished, not a trace left behind. Jupiter and the gas giants were reduced to icy metal cores, their atmospheres stripped away by forces she did not dare to fathom. The atmosphere of Earth, she saw, was thin, thinner even than that of Mars, and more toxic than the vapors which had erstwhile shrouded Venus. The surface was barren, its temperature barely a dozen kelvins, and so utterly ruined that no life could dwell upon it. And in the horrid crevasse which marred Earth's crust, a canopy of clouds hung black like the surface of the seas which had once graced this world.

That ultimate desperate hope abandoned her, and she let herself fall into that abyss, no longer caring what befell her. Her children were dead, devoured by an enemy which even their greatest weapons had failed to halt, but which she had survived. She had failed them. It was over.

And as she fell through the atmosphere, now too thin to even slow her descent, she felt the malefic entities swarming about her, their ethereal strands of immaterium clinging to her soul to entangle her within their webs. And she raged at them, screamed at them to take her and end it all. But as she fell through the bottom of the black roof of clouds, as they parted to reveal beneath her a landscape of ash-strewn ice and jagged stone teeth, she saw. She saw _them._

* * *

**A/N: **A prologue to what will hopefully become a much longer piece of fiction, based loosely upon (and recycling much text from) an earlier Night Land fic of mine which I never got around to finishing.

**Disclaimer:** GAINAX owns Evangelion and related characters; the Night Land and its mythos are public domain.


	2. This Glorious Nightmare

**This Glorious Nightmare**

The Sixteenth Golden Age of Man: the penultimate and grandest age of progress before mankind's inescapable demise, is well under way. A third of a million years have passed since the fall of the decadent Fifteenth Race of Man, and two million years are known to remain before the fall of the Great Redoubt, the last bastion of humanity, standing fast against the Forces of the Land of Eternal Night. Its sloping walls have stood besieged from all sides for uncounted eons before even the death of the long-forgotten sun, more than twelve million years gone, twelve million years since Night fell. The last millions of humanity stand fast within the pressurized, colossal shell of the Great Pyramid, built with long-lost arts of imperishable gray metal, ten miles tall and a mile on a side, each of its thousand floors a city, housing hundreds of thousands. It stands within the unfathomably deep, thousands of miles long crevasse known as the Night Land, the relic of a long forgotten cataclysm, the last place on the dying Earth capable of sustaining life, possibly the last in the whole of the universe.

The stars have long since ceased to be seen, long forgotten by those that dwell upon this world, obscured by the dark clouds that hover far above even the apex of the Redoubt, in an atmosphere too thin to fly upon, barely dense and oxygenated enough to support the respiration of humans altered by eons of evolution, even stifled as it is by eugenics policies intended to preserve the purity and humanity of the last millions.

The product of this controlled evolution is the Sixteenth Race of Man – a misnomer, designated as a 'race' rather than a new species altogether, to provide some subtle reassurance of constance. This new species is one of vastly altered visage: they are taller, thinner, stronger, and more graceful than men of ages past, changes allowed over the millennia, deviations to hold back ever greater foes. Far greater in intellect are these men: their brains most changed about them over the darkling eons, each a superman lurking on the threshold, the precipice of Beast once more, the animal within held back by the strangling restraints of their craft, and by their wills. Yet even with all this cunning and might, they are still feeble in comparison to the denizens of the Night.

Dark Forces oppress the Redoubt from all sides, as they have done since the age of Twilight, since the falling of the Night, extending subtle fingers of influence and mental pressure against the Circle of Earth Current which has guarded it since the inception of the Night. All remain without true names, given mere descriptions by their human observers – an ancient and time-proven practice intended to preserve the souls of mankind against corruption and Destruction; names give the Enemy a presence in the mind – or so the reasoning goes – an imaginary fragment of humanity that is not there, but which makes even the strongest willed of men more willing to answer the siren call.

Against the Redoubt stand the foul, corrupt Abhumans: hulking creatures more beast than man, a twisted parody diverged from human stock millions of years before, perpetual reminders of the fate that awaits humanity should its guard ever drop. The Night Hounds, too, prowl the ash-stained earth: great quadrupedal beasts which stalk the tenebrous plains, muttering with human voices and tearing apart all in their path with tooth and claw stronger than neosteel plate. More brutish still, the Giants toil in their forges upon unknowable things, joining forces with Abhumans and Hounds when unfathomed eldritch 

Powers whisper to them to hunt the child of the Redoubt strong or weak enough of will to brave the Lands. Great Hags and horrid Worms devour the unwary Watchman. Faceless humanoid Striders stalk the plains on appendages more bony fingers than spindly legs, their skeletal claws ready to snatch up and crush prey and pull it to their maw, biting through metal, bone and flesh alike.

There are more subtle forces in the darkness, greater powers still: The Silent Ones, tall figures of pure unlight, veiled by robes of darkness – Antiseraphs gliding in deafening silence, stilling the gibbering howls of the beasts of Night even as they still the hearts of men foolish enough to oppose them, Destroying the souls of all who stand their ground. Ephemeral Pneumavores flit about the skies on wings of immaterium, descending like a foul mist to the earth to steal the souls of men. Shadowy, formless Eaters reach down from the sky with tendrils barely detectable by the finest of instruments, corrupting all they touch. The Great Watching Things stand in unflagging vigilance, undying juggernauts miles tall, moving more slowly than glaciers in a time stream that is not our own, but not unaware of us. Seeing all those who dare brave the Night, they wait with infinite patience for the inevitable waning of the power of the Circle that they may walk across it unimpeded and end the Final Age of Man. There are places, too, where the Powers reside: the Quiet City to the east with its unblinking lights, the Dark Palace to the south, the Pits of Red Fire and the Western Hills, and to the north the titanic Listening Granoliths and the Seven Lights. Occasionally other miscreations which form the Manifestations of the Greater Powers and Ulterior Forces in this universe make their Presence known: the Slowly Turning Wheel and the Great Bell that descend from the clouds to crush the souls of men; the titanic Thing That Nods which sits upon a low hill to the east; the Great Shining Trapezohedron; the Things Which Spin; the Singing Mist; the Severed Hemisphere; and the Great Laughter which rolls down from the southern hills to crash like a wave against the walls of the Redoubt. But Utmost among the powers stands the House of Silence on a low hill to the north, around which the Monstruwacans have determined the entirety of the Forces have arrayed; its doors have stood ajar for all eternity, waiting for the foolish to step inside, never to return, and the unblinking lights within its windows have never faltered.

There are Forces which occasionally preserve the lives of wayfarers lost in the Night Lands, the so-called Good Powers, but they act for their own unfathomable purposes, and as such are unreliable. Many have put off biting the Capsule in the hopes of rescue, only to be Destroyed – their souls obliterated utterly when deliverance would not come.

Mankind has long known its ultimate fate, its inescapable doom, yet it has struggled on in spite of futility, its hope and defiance a testament perhaps to the triumph of the human spirit, or humanity's foolish fear of death in the face of Destruction.

This particular golden age rises from the almost complete infrastructural collapse that accompanied the end of the decadent Fifteenth Age, which took with it the Fifteenth Race of Man. The decrepit period of darkness that followed was pierced only by the brief, false glimpses of rebirth: shogunates headed by the presiding castellans and the Masters of the Watch, the sciences forgotten in the madness of their folly. The Sixteenth Golden Age, born of the rediscovery of an untapped source of the Earth Current under the former site of the long fallen Lesser Redoubt, is marked by an almost exuberant rediscovery and discovery of lost or long-shunned technologies. Light fills the winding corridors which once sat in 

perpetual darkness, and machines long disused to conserve power pulse with renewed life. Once more have the secrets of the imperishable metal which encloses the Redoubt been rediscovered, and used to reconstruct and reclaim the damaged sections of the Pyramid. Once more humanity dabbles in nanotechnology and the quantum manipulation of matter and energy, furthering and refining the technologies of the Redoubt, augmenting its defenses and honing its weapons.

The Redoubt flows with renewed energy, renewed vigor and more hope than has been felt within its walls in eons. This exuberance, this waxing phase, is as always accompanied by yet more ultimately futile attempts to conquer the Night Lands. The consensus is that the time for change has come at last, that the time has come to try to drive back the Night one last time.

* * *

Three men walked purposefully but unhurriedly from the central elevator's final stop on the thousandth level of the Redoubt, ten miles above ground level, heading through a connecting partition up low, wide stairs that would lead them around the Core Conduit, a fifty meter thick, three hundred kilometer tall bundle of dedicated superconducting cable that pumped the life giving energy of the Earth Current to the observatories and instruments of the Tower of the Monstruwacans, a spindly construct which stands three kilometers tall atop the Great Redoubt. All three of the men were Monstruwacans, members of an elite and arcane order dedicated to watching and analyzing the enemies which assailed humanity from all sides, cataloguing new threats and developments in the Night meticulously. Twenty million years the Order had watched, outdating even the Night and the Redoubt, its origins so occulted by time as to be almost impossible to discern. No other order was more honored, and no single human being held more authority over the Redoubt than the Chief Monstruwacan. The present circumstances of humanity, although more hopeful than in any time in recorded history (which did not even go back far enough to recall the Eleventh Golden Age, a mere seven million years ago, let alone the founding of the Order), were nonetheless dire, and grew moreso day by artificial day.

But then, the situation was always dire in the final epoch of the Siege of Man: the Giants eternally grew in size and numbers, the Abhumans bred like vermin, and the Night Hounds gorged themselves and multiplied, even as the Silent Ones and the other Greater Powers grew ever more foreboding and their foul wills did eternal battle with the minds of humanity. In another million years the Powers that had kept the Watchers at bay for all of reliably accountable history were prophesied to fade, leaving humanity with few defenses against the encroaching night. Such were the times they lived in.

Ironic, thought the man leading the three, and perhaps fateful, that the last time the three had worked together, it had resulted in a string of betrayals, blackmail, and retribution which ended with the deaths of all three and the near sacrifice of the human race for an ultimately futile goal, their plots ending not at all as planned, their victory unraveled before their eyes by children. They had worn different titles then, and different faces, but their souls had remained unchanged, and now had met once more inside the mighty bastion of humanity that bore the name of the Great Redoubt. It had taken these three men the better part of ten million years and dozens of incarnations to face up to the foolishness of their actions, and to live down the deep stains they had left on their souls.

Ironic too, that history had vindicated them in the end: Third Impact had been what the Chronomancers referred to as an "Incident" or "Tangent," a node where possibilities collapsed and reemerged and combined into and out of stability and reason. A pivotal point in time would be a succinct and apt way to put it. Looking back to the time of this particular Incident, the Chronomancers had discovered that before it occurred the Earth Current had been draining at a phenomenal rate, and that, with the failure of Third Impact, the resultant spill-out of souls and dissipation of S2 organs had somehow miraculously revitalized and stabilized the Current to levels not seen in hundreds of millions of years, at a time when their Traces showed that the Eaters had made a close approach to Earth. So in nearly destroying humanity, NERV and SEELE had inadvertently saved it from a fate infinitely worse than death, though by no means exclusive of it.

And, lo and behold, brought together again after twenty-four million years, what must they do but replenish the Earth-Current?

The man known as Gendo Ikari in a lifetime lived in a time so distant as to be remembered only in the dimmest recollections and the most inaccurate of legends borne from antediluvian eons by reincarnate men smirked inwardly at the singular string of ironies, as the men who had once been known as Lorenz Keel and Kozo Fuyutsuki marched alongside him up the spiraling stairs. There was irony in that he was the eldest of the group, rather than the youngest: ninety-four years old (a respectable middle age in this Age), to their respective seventy-seven and sixty-five. All three had, in their time, joined the Monstruwacans and became initiates to their mysteries. A fitting and fateful choice, but an unsurprising one: not one of them was courageous enough to join the Watch, all were too proud to work more menial tasks, and they lacked the qualification or talent for other prestigious positions, so all were drawn to the enviable but achievable position of Monstruwacan.

Almost from the first of his lives in the Great Redoubt, Gendo had sought out the position, and through his many dozens of lives had garnered much experience, a fact recognized by his peers, and attested to by his title of Chief Monstruwacan.

As they reached the entrance to the elevator that led to the council chambers he briefly blanked his mind and projected the Master Word to the lone guard in his ceremonial armor, waiting until the doors had shut and the elevator began its ascent before letting his thoughts wander once more.

They had been called up by the Council of Monstruwacans with infuriating frequency to discuss the increasingly pressing issue of the weakening Earth Current, even though they knew his views on the matter and he showed unwavering resolve. It was not yet noticeable by the general populace, especially since the rediscovery of the second well of it beneath the former site of the long-fallen Lesser Redoubt, but careful measurements of the Current over the past two centuries had shown an unexplained 3 average increase in the rate of consumption from previously recorded levels. They had millions of years left before it was gone, to be sure, but the unexplained and rapid decline in output was disturbing. If the drain could not be slowed or suppressed, or the source discovered and dealt with in some manner, humanity was doomed to Destruction well ahead of schedule. The best projections through the streams of time however, showed that humanity would thrive another two million years, the Redoubt would fall 

in three and the last true human would only die in six, and thus that a solution would be found for the present dilemma.

However, the Council was wary: sketchy reports by the Chronomancers over the eons had shown from lateral exploration of the flows of time that failed timelines had the potential to exist – timelines in which Humanity fell long before its scheduled demise. Furthermore, the uncertainties that marked all the occurrences of the use of the S2 engine in the past, and the tacit but enigmatic acquiescence of the Chronomancers to its potential benefits gave some encouragement to the mad plan that Gendo had hatched.

Thus it had fallen to them: no others had experience with the strengthening of the Earth Current, however cursory.

Exiting the elevator, he frowned briefly as he noticed his son's form retreating into a side passage, heading towards the observation deck. He could recognize him from this distance only by his gait – a wide, guarded stance assumed by the Watch, a carryover from his days standing guard at the gates of the Redoubt, uncharacteristic for a Monstruwacan. He briefly wondered whether his son's presence was a coincidence before dismissing it from his mind; there were neither coincidences nor could he afford to be distracted at this crucial stage, lest he be taken apart.

As he walked into the council chamber with his companions he sighed mentally but showed no outward sign, the signs of a recent argument evident in the other council members' body language despite their efforts to control themselves. He carefully blanked his mind – a specialty he inherited from his first life, and one for which he was feared – before setting himself down on a seat with the others. His apparently indomitable will and cold rationality had served him well in the past, maintaining order as weaker-minded subordinates panicked in the face of danger.

After exchanging almost purely ceremonial greetings, the council got down to business.

"Have you reconsidered my proposition?" he asked of the council without prompting, addressing everyone and no one.

The councilors shifted uncomfortably before Gendo's gaze despite all their training, a fact that he noted with some satisfaction, before one worked up the courage to respond.

"We have, but it still seems like an excessive risk."

"As far as we know, the Super Solenoid organ is the only device capable of regenerating the Earth Current, and the only surviving example is inside of the fallen Evangelion unit, eight hundred kilometers to the north," Gendo responded, steepling his hands reflexively, "the propositions of decreasing the consumption of Current by decreasing power to the Air Clog, Observation Tower or any other subsections would be completely infeasible at a crucial juncture such as this, and they use nearly seventy percent of all produced power. Conservation, while perhaps helpful, is by no means the key to this crisis."

"We agree wholeheartedly, but the Lords have argued that the risks and costs of the recovery operation you propose are not justifiable."

"Did you remind them that with the added power of the S2 organ, the precious pet projects that they've been dying to put into operation would be feasible?"

"Of course…"

"But?" he questioned, carefully allowing a measure of the impatience he felt to seep through.

"…they are wary," stated the councilor, regaining some confidence, fueled by fear fermented into anger, "the loss of ten thousand souls in a mad march into the Night Land cannot be justified even by such potential benefits."

Gendo smirked behind his hands as Lorenz broke in from his right, speaking in a chilling near-whisper that nonetheless carried across the chamber, "The costs are negligible. The loss of a mere ten thousand lives is insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Humanity will die, sooner or later. With the S2 engine we can postpone our death indefinitely, bolster the power of the Air Clog, possibly even win against the forces of the House of Silence."

"They have also questioned how you intend to retrieve an object as presumably large as the S2 organ."

Gendo sighed mentally as he contemplate how sheltered the Lords truly were to lack even the simplest comprehension of the magnitude of the mission, "the fact that the engine is intact means, by definition, that the Eva unit is functional. Once we reach it, it simply requires a pilot to activate it, after which it will transport itself quite handily."

"The presiding castellans have also pointed out that there is no precedent of success in large-scale expeditions into the Night Land."

"Then give them some more reminders of the benefits. They are greedy old men and women after all, clinging to their office and sucking up every bit of prestige they can get their hands on. It shouldn't take that much to bring them over to our way of thinking, or at least a facsimile thereof," replied Gendo with a growing smirk. His smirk abruptly dropping before he stated, in a manner far colder than even what was usual for him, "the whims of little men whom dream themselves feudal lords do not concern me, my only concern is the survival of humanity, and the eradication of the Forces that beset us. You and they would do well to remember that." Melodramatic, certainly, but it had the right effect, as all the lesser ranked councilors made subtle signs of concealed terror and awe. Subtle signs which his honed eyes easily saw.

After a moment, Fuyutsuki butted in with a comment of his own, "More importantly, tell them to make their decision quickly. Recent deviations from the established patterns in the Night Land show a great change is upon us. We must mobilize and retrieve the S2 core in time to be prepared for any new assault."

"That is the very argument they have been using to point out the infeasibility of the proposal. If we were to send out such a party, who would be left to defend the Redoubt?"

"Those fools," muttered Lorenz furiously, "The Redoubt houses in excess of a quarter billion occupants, in the time required to prepare for such a mission, let alone mount it, the guard could be replaced ten times over."

"Even if increased tenfold, the Watch would stand no chance with a weakening Circle," Gendo continued darkly, "You know our position on this matter; do not bother us with more petty squabbles among the lords until there is some progress, one way or another."

"Very well, sirs, thank you for your time," the councilor responded, shakily, as Gendo rose and after he had regained enough composure to speak to the Arch Monstruwacan. Gendo bowed slightly before he and his companions left the chamber.

"The fools," muttered Keel darkly, glaring at nothing in particular, "they practically begged us to prepare an expedition to recover it, and now that we are complying with their wishes, they have doubts, and demand that we halt."

"They remind me of a certain committee of old men in that regard," replied Gendo coldly, glancing mockingly at Keel, who redirected his glare.

"No matter," added the third member of their triumvirate, "their reasoning in denying us proves circular, they will acquiesce given time."

"Time is not something we possess a surfeit of," countered Kozo.

"Nor is patience, evidently," muttered Kihl.

"That indeed may prove our undoing," Gendo interjected over the grumblings of his peers, cutting them off, "for this is a game of diplomacy and politics. We must be cautious that we do not appear too rash, yet do not allow them to doubt. Steadfast in our conviction, we will erode away their reluctance, but push too hard and they will snap, and all our efforts will have been for naught."

His fellows were appreciative of the comments, he saw, as they calmed themselves with the arts of their order. They exchanged few more words before he parted ways with his companions, resolving to head to the observation deck to see if his son was present, his thoughts once more drifting to the mystery of his presence on the Council Chamber level.

* * *

There you have it, the second chapter in the unfolding saga, complete with the obligatory lengthy exposition regarding the Night Land; don't worry, that will decrease drastically in the following chapters as I deal more with the characters. It's shitty, melodramatic, and I'll probably replace it before I'm through, but I rushed to get it out while I still have an internet connection. I considered putting the meeting with Shinji in this chapter, but it further damaged the already bruised battered and rushed flow, and I still haven't got a proper characterization for him yet.

Comments and reviews are much appreciated.


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